Forever Dreamless
by Shyrgasse
Summary: One brother, dying is sucked into a dream he cannot escape as he lives amongst the people he once knew from his boy hood. On adventure, he unwillingly discovers his true self. The other brother trapped in the real world watches his brother slowly fade.


_**So a good friend and myself tend to use Eirik for Iceland and Harald for Norway. (There is an interesting reason for Harald, because one of the Norwegian kings was known as 'pretty' and his name was Harald. We thought this fit Norway) If in the future these two get an official name, I would be willing to change it to whatever it is. But as of late I do not know an official name, just suggested names. This still in my opinion leaves me the option of using my suggested names as well.**_

_**Also heads up to my readers, this is a pure AU. They are not countries but people. If you do not like AUs then I wouldn't read this. **_

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><p>Eirik rested in his bed, looking out the window despite there being no sunlight this time of the year in Iceland. His half-brother, Harald from Norway, sat pensively in his chair, rocking slowly and reading. Eirik knew for a fact that his brother already read that particular book seven times since he came to Iceland. The bed bound boy felt overjoyed that Harald happened to not be reading it out loud like he sometimes would. He knew the book quite well without Harald reading it to him, for their mother had read it to them as children. Eirik was even positive it was the exact same book. After their mother had died, Harald inherited many books from their mother. Many that Eirik believed should have stayed with him. After all, he was the one she had fully raised, not Harald. Though he was somewhat glad he did not inherit that particular book. In Eirik's opinion, the book was not something mothers should read to their children. Celebrating violent Vikings while they raided made bad children.<p>

Harald shifted in his seat, looking for a comfortable spot with better candle lighting. This gave Eirik a sick sense of joy. The stupid Norwegian did not get that one did not read in the winter months while in Iceland. By the time Harald returned to Norway, Eirik suspected he would be too nearsighted to fine his way back to the north Atlantic island ever again. That would get his older sibling out his hair for good.

Or maybe it was the fever talking. Harald wasn't that bad was he? Eirik shrugged off the question as his eyes left the reflection of Harald to the outside world. The sleepy village of Reykjavik did not just simply sleep during the winter months, and his neighbors were still active. Eirik at the moment could watch a maid chop wood. Dull, but at least it was something.

He traced his fingers over the fogged part of the glass, only for Harald to look up from his book and chide, "I don't think Gudred likes you dirtying up her windows." Eirik glared ready to reply.

A cough originated from deep inside Eirik's chest resonated. At first, the cough was harmless, until several more joined in. Each cough felt as if he were coughing up fire heated coals he foolishly inhaled. Vaguely, Eirik was aware of the sound of Harald's Viking book colliding with the wooden floor before comforting hands caressed his tense back. His muscles shuttered violently as the choking sensation began to block out his senses. Only Harald's soft hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, while the arm helped prop Eirik forward was all he could feel during his suffocation. Clawing for his kerchief, Eirik stuffed it in front of his mouth moments before he expelled a mouthful of blood. After a good five minutes, his coughs ended into labored wheezes. The air tasted sweet as his lungs filled slowly with air.

"We need to get you to Denmark as soon as possible." Harald stated.

Eirik shook his head weakly, annoyed by the overly stated statement. How many times had Harald requested for him to go to Denmark? The first day he arrived, Harald had full intentions of packing Eirik's things and catching the first ship back to Europe. But, stubbornly, Eirik declined.

So once again Eirik spoke the same answer, "The journey would kill me." he retorted bitterly, "No thanks."

Harald's face remained calm as he answered back, "You need sunlight, brother. It will do you some good and get rid of this cough."

Eirik did not reply at first. He simply rolled away from his brother, facing the window once more. The maid chopping wood was gone, but Harald's weight remained at his side. Eirik wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, that he would rather die than leave Iceland. But screaming would trigger another coughing fit.

So he settled for a meek reply, "Then you will have to wait until spring to arrives."

An exasperated sigh left Harald's lips. More emotion than the older brother usually showed. But the breath of that sigh seem to fan the ill feelings Eirik had locked up inside. He didn't need Harald to be here. It was obvious to everyone that Eirik was dying. So what was the point? To behave as a loving older brother in Eirik's time of need? Loving older brother, Eirik could not see Harald thusly. Estranged was more like it. What ever Harald's motive was, it made Eirik feel like a puppet.

The two brother's came from two separate lives in two separate countries. Harald lived a rich comfortable life in Norway. No doubt he attended parties and danced with pretty dolled up girls. (Though Eirik readily admitted that Harald did not take too much pleasure out of such parties) Harald had been sent to Cambridge to become a lawyer. From the few letters he did receive, Harald did not enjoy being a lawyer and merely did it for the money. One of the two times in their life time they had seen each other was the three years their mother visited Harald in Norway. But Eirik's time was not with Harald but with other people of Harald's house hold. At the time, Harald had been studying hard and had little time for Eirik, nor the patience. This left a wedge between the two.

Later, Eirik returned to Iceland with his mother to take up the job of working on fishing boats. He loved his job, but women did not tend to flock to Eirik, for it was a known fact that his mother spent more than she made and Eirik smelt of fish. By the time he reached eighteen, Eirik had made an investment in wool and sheep, giving him a moderate life style. But this happened after his mother's death, which was the last time the two brother's met. That one day for a few hours as they put the woman to rest neither looked the other's way. After that, Harald left without a word to Eirik only to appear four years later.

He hated the fact Harald was here.

Harald stood from Eirik's bed, feeling the obvious moodiness of the younger brother. However, at the last moment, "How much blood?"

"What?" Eirik asked incredulously, craning his neck to glare over his shoulder.

"How much blood did you cough up?" Harald restated his question.

Eirik refaced the window before looking at his blood encrusted hand that gripped the soiled kerchief. He had forgotten to check. They always checked and monitored how much blood Eirik coughed up. But the frequencies the attacks were happening made the coughing the routine and not the checking.

Slowly, he loosened his grip, revealing the wet blood beneath. "No more than usual. But…" Eirik peered at it closely. "It seems there are bits of dark clumps or something in the blood."

Harald invaded Eirik's space once more, leaning to view the kerchief himself. "We should call a doctor."

"I'm fine." Eirik scoffed.

"This is no laughing matter, brother. You are ill and getting worse."

They sat silently sending scowls at one another. Eirik felt the flood of anger rise. The need to scream tingled his throat. But instead he shrugged. "Do what ever you want. Just bring me a glass of wine. I need to get this taste out my mouth."

Harald's brow creased slightly, as if he wished to say something, "Very well." he said instead. "I'll bring up some broth as well." then he was gone.

"Good riddance." Eirik muttered gloomily as his throat choked. Another fits of coughs began, the pain shot up from his diaphragm. The gush of blood spluttered into his mouth as he spat into his hand that clamped over his lips. Eirik tried to breath but all he received were rattle breaths that delivering little oxygen. His heart began to race as each cough inhibited his ability to breath as blood sloshed from deep with in up into his mouth. It was as if an elephant sat on his chest, crushing the life out of him and squishing the blood of his insides up threw his mouth.

Finally a proper breath gasped air in and the fit ended. Eirik felt the rush of rich oxygen making him light headed. His brain began to fog over as his sluggish eyes looked down his chest, covered in blood. He raised his hand up, to see what he had coughed up. The kerchief dripped with blood and his eyes blurred over as his body began to shut down.

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><p>The jolt of the carriage ride had long sense made Eirik's bottom sore. At age six, he decided that traveling was worse than taking a bath. Already, the young Eirik had been cooped up for two weeks on their voyage from Iceland to Norway with his mother. Eirik felt excited despite the dull boredom. Soon he would be able to see his only family besides his mother he had, Harald. The anticipation almost could not be contained in the six year old. But he had been taught to not move about the carriage, for it would surely flip over, crushing them both.<p>

His mother sat rigidly, crocheting a hat perfectly even though the carriage jerked constantly about. Eirik smiled up at his mother, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. He loved to see her blue eyes light up in smiles. However, those blue eyes remained shadowed but her pearly whites peaked behind her lips. It was more than enough to satisfy Eirik.

The boy turned to the window and began to trace designs on fogged glass, revealing a grey figureless world. Everything only seem to be half there, lost in a fog like a dream. Had Norway always been so bland? Eirik felt an eerie sensation as his eyes scanned for green fields and houses. Something wasn't right.

"Darling, I don't think the stage coach will take too kindly to you dirtying his windows." his mother's soft voice chided lightly.

"Mama, why do we have to travel to see brother? Why doesn't he just live with us?" Eirik spoke, turning away from his drawing.

A dainty arm wrapped around him pulling Eirik to her. Soft lips that he saw more than he felt, graced the crown of his head. "Because your brother belongs with his father's family."

"But he's our family as well." Eirik countered.

"Yes dear but it's not the same."

"How can it be any different." Eirik looked up at her, expecting his mother's nonexistent face to explain all to him.

Instead her lips turned into a big smile. "Eirik look! We're here!"

Eirik leaned to the window, wiping the moisture away so he could see the building properly. However, all that he could see was three distinct towers jutting up from a body of grey fog. Each tower looked gothic with tiny port windows with bars incasing them. But most daunting of them all was the giant steel reinforced door. The designs to his child eyes, made a frightening glare that seem to suck his very being nearer.

"Mama it looks like a prison. Do we really have to go inside?" Eirik's voice cracked with fear all the time his eyes remained on the door.

"Oh Eirik what are you talking about? Look there; ponies! How adorable." The boy looked to where his mother pointed in anticipation only to see more figureless fog. He peered as hard as he could pass the fog. His mind screamed at the fog to thin and almost as if at his command it began to disperse.

Eirik let out a scream as the door flooded his sight, glaring him down. His heart hammered and the adrenaline pumped into his shaky, tiny form. "Mother I don't want to go." he pleaded desperately. All he received was her smile that began to grow into an eerie ghost smile. As if Casper were summoned, the carriage stopped and headless, grey blob opened the door. Eirik skidded away from the door, clinging onto his mother.

"Mother, please." his voice cracked weakly. He could still see the door through the grotesque grey blob.

Eirik's mother grabbed him firmly with dead cold hands dragging him towards the outside world. "No!" he screamed, planting his feet on either side of the door frame of the carriage, wedging himself inside. "I won't go!" The door hummed darkly at him, laughing at the boys resolve.

His mother began to yank at his arm. The force hurt as he felt his shoulder cry in pain. But Eirik pressed his heels harder into the frame. But then the yanks became super human strength, each jerk ripping Eirik forward that his head almost reached his ankles. Cracks in the wood could be heard with each vicious pull. The last strong pull made the carriage shatter around Eirik, dispersing into the grey fog all together, horses and all.

Like a magnet, Eirik went surging through his mother and towards the door. It grinned evilly before it opened its great big mouth. The boy believed he would be swallowed however instead smoke gushed out. The smoke smelled of wood and bodies as it billowed out around Eirik, choking him. Everything seem to fog out like the rest of the world, even the door who continuously belched out the putrid smoke. His lungs began to smolder in pain as Eirik coughed up the smoke. His body struggled to free itself of the hold the door had on him. It was clear he could not free himself and he pleaded for a miracle.

The sound of the heavy door swinging open echoed in his ears. Eirik opened his eyes to see a tall figure with wild hair walk out. He thrust out his hand towards Eirik. "Kid?" the voice echoed hollowly. Eirik grabbed it at the last moment only to see the whole world shatter in bright light. He closed his eyes, waiting to wake.

"Kid!" the voice resounded clearly. "Come on wake up!"

"I think we were too late." a soft voice commented.

Eirik cracked one eye to see two blondes standing above him worriedly. Then he began to cough.

"Ah he's alive." the soft voice sighed in relief.

"Told ya." the other commented. "He was just stunned."

"Pick 'em up. We gotta go." A third voice rumbled deeply.

Eirik's limp body was slung onto a mans back piggy back style as his mind tried to put together what was happening. The cool air that blew from sea and unto his skin made him believe he was outside. Harald would never allow him outside with such a cold wind. Cracking his eyes open briefly, he saw the disheveled blonde hair and darkness of the night. However the shimmering water around them told Eirik he was near a port.

The dream of the front door of Harald's house left his body tense. He had never gone through that door willingly accept one time. But his mind was too drunk on exhaustion to remember the exact circumstances. Just the memory of tears and sadness. Someone he had cared for had died, that's right. Eirik shifted his head in a more comfortable position, not wanting to fully remember the event.

The man that carried him, paused into a slow walk as another man, much shorter came to his side. "Did ya get the medallion?"

"No."

"That's a dead end to that lead… What now, Mikkel?"

"Keep moving." the third man's voice barked sternly.

Eirik began to feel a burning sensation in his stomach. But it was not internal but the skin. He let out a grown in pain.

"I think he may have some bad burns, man." Mikkel commented as he shifted Eirik's weight on his back.

"Don' man me. Move." the man ordered sternly.

"I don't take orders lightly, Berwald." Mikkel huffed dangerously. He could feel the mans muscles ripple tensely. For a moment Eirik believed this Mikkel would start a fight. Wait? Mikkel? Why did this name ring a bell?

"If ya didn' set the inn on fire he'd be fine." Berwald countered.

"As if I did that on purpose. Did ya see that guys height!"

"So fightin' with a torch was a good idea?"

"Guys…" the voice of reasons interrupted. "I can hear the dogs, we really need to leave port."

"Yes, mom." Mikkel answered sarcastically.

"'course, Tino."

They three were on the move again. The jarring of riding on Mikkel's back reminded him of a carriage. This sensation must have made him dream of his childhood journey to Norway. But peculiarly, these voices and names all sounded familiar. Eirik had a feeling any moment now, Harald would be waking him to take another dosage of mercury. He hated the taste of the silvery metal, it tasted much like the blood he coughed up. No he rather sit her on Mikkel's back trying to connect the dots with his sleep drugged mind.

Mikkel, Tino, and Berwald hunched down in the shadows of the boat yard. A rush of soldiers dashed by and Eirik lifted his head just in time to see their uniforms. The alarm was being blown from a horn. Eirik felt Mikkel shift uncomfortable on his haunches.

"Hurry up. I can't stay like this much longer." Mikkel strained.

Berwald just growled an answer as his sharp eyes inspected each ship. Which one was most ready to sail, which one could conceal them. "See that one on the righ'?" both men nodded. "Its got no cargo sittin' out an no guards. It has to be ready to launch."

"Then that's our ship?" Mikkel hissed quietly back. Berwald nodded. "Well then let's go-"

Tino and Berwald yanked partially Eirik but mainly Mikkel back down just in time for another procession of soldiers to march by. Eirik felt himself partially slip off Mikkel onto another person behind him. He opened his eyes to dazedly too look at a sharp, frowning face. Before he closed his eyes again, Berwald had pushed Eirik back onto Mikkel's back.

"Not with that boy on your back, Mikkel." Tino sighed. "We got to do this correctly. You sit here and we'll clear a path."

"Woah we're fighting?" Mikkel asked in amazement.

"It's only a matter of time before they seal the harbor. We have to commandeer a ship immediately." Tino said sadly.

"Well I guess it's for the best I'm not fighting." Mikkel sighed. "Burnt my hand." he showed the two his the bright palm.

Berwald's eyes narrowed as he yanked Mikkel's hand to him. "Where did ya get this!"

"What? The burns?" Berwald narrowed. "Grabbed the medallion and it burnt me pretty good. Go figure it was red hot from the fire."

"You idiot…"

"Mikkel, the inscription is burnt into your flesh. We have a lead!" Tino chirped brightly.

"Ya I know. Pretty smooth, right?" Mikkel answered cockily.

Berwald turned away from Mikkel, his face becoming more stonily. He reached for his shield on his back and scabbard pulling out his sword. Tino did the same process, only pulling out his bow. The young man knelt and crossed himself before giving a silent prayer. Berwald waited patiently for his friend to say, 'Amen'. Tino kept to his silent mutterings in a quick chirpy language.

"That's an awfully long prayer you got there, Tino." Mikkel commented heartlessly.

Re-crossing himself, Tino frowned. "I'm about to slaughter countless innocents from the crown of Sweden."

Mikkel gave him a lop sided smirk, "You mean for the crown of Denmark."

"For Scandinavia." Berwald stoically corrected them both. "Keep 'im safe, Mikkel."

The two rushed out into the darkness, there cloaks catching the light of the few scattered oil lamps. Mikkel rolled Eirik off his back, which Eirik was relieved. The burning he had in his stomach seem to subside. Slowly, he felt the cautious Mikkel inspect Eirik.

"What strange clothing," he remarked. "Are you from one of those uppity European cities like Venice?" Eirik did not have the strength to reply. He opened his eyes to see Mikkel looming over him, but the older man did not notice. He tried to move his fingers but they merely twitched. Instead he had to put up with Mikkel poking and tugging at his pants and shirt.

The sound of a gurgled breath reached both of their ears. Mikkel peered over the crates they were hidden in. "Looks like they started. Tino just shot a few arrows through some guards throats." Mikkel commented to the barely conscious man.

Mikkel went back to ignoring his partners progress to reach into Eirik's pockets with his good hand. Nimble fingers pulled out a golden flat yet circular object.

"Sweet a compass." Mikkel cooed while snapping it open only to blink confusedly at all the odd marking and weird ticking noise. "Or not," he frowned. "Til min sonn, Eirik." Mikkel read out the inscription engraved on the inside. "So you're Norwegian, huh."

A man's cry echoed loudly causing Mikkel to jump almost dropping the device. Quickly, he replaced it back in the boys pocket before lifting him onto his back. A loud whistle called to him. Berwald and Tino had taken a ship.

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><p><strong><em>Okay I hopped you enjoyed this. So you all know that from the moment Iceland had his last attack he has been dreaming. The next chapter will make more sense I promise. Please R&amp;R and give me feed back. <em>**


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